


Topeka

by jenni3penny



Series: McAvoys 1.0 [3]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: Pre-series, pre-relationship. HOTEL ROOM TROPE!! "And it's suddenly impossible that he's going to fall back to sleep because something has her dreaming and he wants to witness as much of it as he possibly can before she's taken away from him, before this unfolded fantasy is packaged back up and unreachable."





	Topeka

“You don't mind, Will?”

  
Jesus Fuck, he can nearly taste the latent lick of coffee that's still on her lips, just the barest hint of it as she leans her shoulder into his bicep and sleepily tips her head closer than she should.

She's a goddamn tease when she's tired and lagging and leaning into him like they're a pair. Like he isn't a sinking fucking anchor in the face of her tired prettiness and perfect goddamn professionalism.

Sometimes, though he knows it's not at all her fault, he gets angry over how affectionate a friend she can be.

Mainly because, well, because sometimes she gets affectionate and he gets a raging fucking hard on in answer.

“What?” Will snipes down into her hair, into how easily she's ignoring his tone in trade for sighing over the hotel lobby's check in desk. He's being an asshole. But then he's dog tired and he can't seem to help it, not when he can bend his head into smelling her hair if he likes. “Sorry, didn't catch that?”

“Sharing a room? You don't mind? I don't know Kevin at all and Jerry's wife will just have a complete meltdown if - ”

“No, I don't care. I just wanna crash.” To the rest of the world it sounds like that's exactly what he means. As he hands the corporate card over to the hotel employee it sounds as though he really ( _really_ ) doesn't care, his tone of voice implies that it's just fine, that all is well, that he isn't having an internal mental meltdown at the idea of sharing a cramped hotel bedroom with her.

What in the ever-loving-fuck is she thinking? She's out of her bleedin' British ( _American_ ), leftist Liberal, too-smarty-pants, fucking mind.

“It's a bit romantic-comedy-trope-ish, isn't it?”

Oh, and she's quite aware of it too. Well, welcome to the Real World now, Ms McHale.

Will blinks stunned silence at her and glares down as she lifts her jaw.

Still, though, still she doesn't meet his eyes. Still she manages to avoid looking up at him as she fidgets through her carry on for nothing at all.

He leans his shoulders back as they wait for the lobby clerk to get them their room keys, turns his side into the shelf they've already been leaning against and glares down over her, “What is _what_ now?”

“Nothing,” she huffs up finally. Her eyes are brighter in mingled blue than he expects but she's still lagging from a couple unplanned layovers, a handful of extra travel hours.

Likely the attitude he's been tossing between them is being fueled by exhaustion, frustration, the fact that he knows he's half in love with one of his dear friends. The pause is what they need, the break and breath between them is what saves them from getting bitter. He silently takes the paperwork the woman passes over the lobby counter, accepting the card keys as well and handing one to Mac without a word. The movements are slow and gentle and purposeful. 

She gives him a small half smile, an olive branch and a sleepy nod toward the elevators, “Go get settled in and I'll be up. I want to call Brian.”

Will steps backwards with a snort, rolling his eyes at the fact she thinks she has to run off and hide somewhere in a hotel bar in Kansas just to call her boyfriend. “Call him from the room. I don't give a - ”

“If he hears your voice he'll just - ”

“He'll what?” he asks abruptly, hands lifting at his sides as he makes a motion that says he's long past giving a wild and woolly fuck what Brian Brenner thinks or says. He's burned up by annoyance for a moment and he's tired enough to fall into an accusatory tone. “What Kenz? What exactly will he do? What should he care?”

That's when he feels guilty, though. He starts to regret being so churlish when they're spread apart across the lobby of a mid-range hotel in Topeka, the both of them looking publicly bedraggled and half their production staff is coming and going from behind and between them.

That's when he sees it on her face in brash lighting, that's when he sees a minuscule flick of guilt and chagrin and the way it wrecks her features into gloominess.

Because that's when he makes her visibly sad - and instantly feels like trash for it.

It moves him closer as he squeezes the room key in his hand, cuts the edge of it into the middle of his palm. The small pain is personal punishment for being a dick, even if he's the only one aware that he's administering it.

“You've become a bit of a... well, we're good friends, you and I. You'd agree?”

He would agree, and he would also like to point out how near loving her voice goes when she refers to him as her friend. He'd like to remind her that her lover treats her half as well as he should most days. He doesn't - but he'd certainly like to...

Someday. Maybe. Doubtful.

“I would,” he murmurs, voice strong and assuring as he nods over her and re-adjusts his own bag against his right shoulder. “The fuck's that got to do with Brenner? I've become what?”

Mac just tips him a derisive look, brow arched and lips pressed tight as she brushes her hair from her eyes and blinks at him. “ _Will_.”

“I've become a _what_?”

And one of her thin shoulders lifts, it shifts and with it she steps half a breath closer. “A threat. He thinks.”

“He's an insecure sack of - ”

A sharp noise of interruption and disregard stalls him quiet, her face screwed up annoyed as she lifts a hand between them. It shifts closer toward him and he doesn't think she's conscious of letting her palm pressed onto the center of his chest until she's already made the movement and he inhales slowly beneath the touch. He can feel her press back silently in answer, pressure meeting his quietness and he makes sure that most all their employees have gone (save Jerry, heading for the bar) before he leans into her and drops his head closer to hers. He'd swear to Christ that she breathes his name between her lips but, hell, he's so tired. He could absolutely be imagining things. He could be making up the things he wants to hear because he's exhausted and she's so close and pressed up the front of him and the only way he really ever wants to share a hotel room with her is if there's a hot tub and a big luxurious bed that he can lay her out on.

“You've done nothing wrong, Kenz,” he whispers near the side of her head, “Seriously.”

She makes a noise of negation in her throat, head turning just enough to tantalize him, just enough to make his heart stutter up and thunk against his rib cage.

She cannot stay this close. Not without some disastrous results.

Because he knows for a fact that he's an idiot and he just really wants to bury his face in her hair and kiss just behind her ear. Instead he touches her hip lightly, squeezes against her side to assure her.

“We're just friends,” Will affirms (even knowing it's a lie to himself), lifting his head as she disengages both physically and emotionally. He can see her draw space between them, an invisible shield of nothingness.

Her eyes lift to meet his glance and she smiles, bittersweet but gentle. “Let's not... Not tonight, Billy. I'm so tired.”

“Yeah, all right.” He shrugs it off as he releases her, waving a hand over his shoulder and towards the elevator as he back steps. “I'm ordering in.”

“Oh, god, food. Yes,” she lights up a little after him, the mention of food giving her a seemingly new surge of energy and patience. “Will?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he hums with an aching smile that he cannot avoid. “I got it.”

 

* * *

 

She moans deeply in her sleep and, inexorably, his cock twitches in answer.

Even from across the bedroom, or at least the three foot chasm between his bed and hers.

And it's suddenly impossible that he's going to fall back to sleep because something has her dreaming and he wants to witness as much of it as he possibly can before she's taken away from him, before this unfolded fantasy is packaged back up and unreachable. Boxed, bowed, and damn near betrothed to an ungracious, supercilious... Right, she has a boyfriend, one that she's been seeing for ages, he's aware of it. He's absolutely, _entirely_ aware of it, sure. He also day-and-night dreams about her far more often lately than is acceptable when two people are ' _just friends_ ' and one of them is already in a relationship. But it's not... they're not lewd fantasies.

Well...actually... no, some of them are. Some of them are downright pornographic.

But, for the most part, they're embarrassingly domestic, sickeningly sweet.

They're burnt breakfast, spilled coffee, endless laundry and tax season. Mismatched socks and sharing closet space and fighting over brands of whiskey while working on his copy. They're morning sex, typo texts, uncontrollable laughter and getting lost when he takes the wrong exit off the Jersey Turnpike. Midnight fights, fucking on his dining room table, and fixing the shitty plumbing in her apartment even though he wouldn't actually have any idea what he was doing...

For the most part he just wants to love and protect her and even in his own head it sounds stupid. It also sounds like a damn terrible idea.

Loving MacKenzie McHale sounds like, even silently, the worst idea he's ever had in his entire life.


End file.
